A Field Guide for Heartbreakers (10 page)

MOM
?” Veronica asked, touching his skin with her finger.“Worse,” Scotty Dee said. “It says
Smudge
. They’re an Australian band you’ve probably never heard of. I got it after a concert. Never a good idea.”“I think tattoos are cool and can really define a person,” Veronica said. “Yeah, literally,” Scotty Dee said.“So, what are you doing in Prague?” she asked.“Just looking around. I came here with my friend Kirk.”Veronica peeked over Scotty Dee’s shoulder.“He’s not
here
here,” Scotty Dee said, smiling. “He’s in the country today.”“And why aren’t you in the country today?” Veronica asked.This was a total flirt fest. I felt like a complete fifth wheel. I wasn’t sure if I should jump into the conversation or stand still and be quiet. Or walk off. Or detach and meditate. Or what.“I like the city more than the country. I’m from the country.”“We’re from Ohio. Have you ever heard of Ohio?” Veronica asked.“Yeah, isn’t Cleveland there?” he asked.“Yes. Dessy and I live right outside of Cleveland,” Veronica told him.“They have a famous river there, right? It caught on fire?”“Oh, that was a long time ago,” Veronica said. “It’s totally fine now.”I saw my chance to contribute, so I leapt at it.“You’re thinking of the Cuyahoga River Fire. It happened in 1969. And it only lasted thirty minutes. And it wasn’t so much that the river caught fire as it was that a concentrated area of industrial pollutants ignited. In a weird way, it was a good thing, because it led to the Clean Water Act,” I said.Veronica looked at me and wrinkled her brow. She wasn’t happy with my recitation of gloomy Ohio trivia.“Oh,” Scotty Dee said. “I didn’t realize I’d learn so much about Ohio while on holiday in Europe.”“Forget everything Dessy just said. Ohio really is fantastic.”He nodded.“So, whereabouts in the city are you headed?” Veronica asked.“The museum,” Scotty Dee said, pointing to the building behind the statue.“We’re heading off to the Old Jewish Cemetery today. You know, check out the graves and then tour some synagogues. Well, look at the time. It’s getting late. Nice meeting you,” Veronica said, lifting her hand in a wave. “Catch you later.”“Wait,” Scotty Dee said, reaching out and touching Veronica’s arm. “I was going to tell you about this statue. So you wouldn’t go around with the impression that you’d just seen the likeness of Paul the Baptist.”Veronica smiled. Sometimes I was surprised at how well she could read guys. She could sense he was losing interest, perhaps I’d spooked him a bit with my Cuyahoga River Fire trivia. And in response to his response, she’d pulled back. She was prepared to bolt. Which was something she’d told me many times about how to keep a guy interested: “Whenever you feel his interest waning, make a bold exit. It works every time. If his gaze wanders, even for a flicker of an instant, you get the hell out of there. Trust me. He’ll watch your butt as you leave.” And even here in Prague, with a fully mature Australian guy, her “bolt strategy” had worked like a charm.“All right, Scotty Dee,” Veronica said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Tell us what we need to know.”He laughed and pulled out his guidebook.“I don’t want to get anything wrong. Wouldn’t want to dispense misinformation to American college students,” he said, thumbing through the book.“We wouldn’t want that either,” Veronica said.“It says here that Saint Wenceslas is the patron saint of Bohemia. Wenceslas was murdered by his brother. The body, hacked to pieces, was buried at the place of his murder, but three years later his brother ordered its transfer to the Church of Saint Vitus in Prague.”“Holy shit,” Veronica said. “Stories like that give me great relief that I’m an only child.”“I’m not finished,” Scotty said. Veronica looked like she’d heard enough about this saint. “And legend says that an army sleeps inside a mountain and they will wake under Wenceslas’s command when the motherland is in ultimate danger. And when his horse stumbles and trips over a stone, a sword will appear. And wielding this, King Wenceslas will slaughter all the enemies of the Czechs, and bring peace and good fortune back to the land.”“Is that everything?” Veronica asked.Scotty Dee winked. “It’s a shame to meet and part ways,” he said.“Shames. Life is filled with them,” Veronica said.“We should meet up again,” Scotty Dee said.“We’ve got classes during the day,” Veronica said. “Three days a week. Workshops. They’re intense.”“I wouldn’t want to derail your studies,” he said.“Yeah. Our studies are very important to us,” Veronica said.“Why don’t you two meet me and Kirk here Sunday? Say six o’clock? Does that work for you?”Since today was Thursday, that meant he was suggesting we meet up again real soon.Veronica pursed her lips like she was thinking. “That works for
moi
. What about you, Dessy?”I nodded. I guess hanging out with hot guys with amazing accents worked for me.“Hey, let me get your picture,” Veronica said. “I’m a huge fan of photography.”“Uh-oh. I don’t have my camera,” I said. Because it was a cheap disposable one, I’d left it in the room on purpose. Using it in front of people, I feared, would draw attention to me and make me feel poor.Veronica looked devastated.“That’s okay. Bring it on Sunday,” Scotty said. “At six o’clock.” Veronica reached out and touched the heart on his arm again. “Okay,” she said.As we walked off I bumped her with my shoulder.“Ouch,” she said.“You came on way too strong,” I said.“I had to do something to combat your weirdo Ohio info drop. The Cuyahoga River Fire?”“You saw him. He’s trivia minded. He knew where Ohio was and he’s not even an American. He ate that river story up!” “Yeah. Yeah. Here’s something you need to know,” Veronica said. She sounded very serious. “If a guy asks us both out and he has a guy friend, it’s called a double invitation and that’s cool. If a guy asks one of us out for a date, it’s called a single invitation and that’s cool too. Never try to convert a double invitation into a single or vice versa. Because men have very sensitive egos and they’ll take it the wrong way.”“What if one guy asks both of us out?” I asked.“That’s called a sex party and we don’t go,” Veronica said. “Oh my god! It’s the guys. It looks like they’re eating lunch. Let’s go harass them.”Veronica took off, and I followed her. Waller, Frank, Roger, and Kite were sitting at a table littered with pizza crusts on paper plates. I guess their earlier impulse to pursue authentic Czech cuisine had been a short-lived one. “It runs counter to my nature to tease flood victims,” Waller was saying, “but when I realized the guy was canoeing down Main Street in two feet of water, I couldn’t resist running past him in my waders, making some waves, and yelling, ‘The current has me!’” Waller put his arms out and moved them around like he was swimming. The guys sat around him laughing and drinking beer under the sun’s hot glow.“Hey,” Waller said. “How’s it going?”“Sorry to interrupt,” Veronica said. “That sounded like an interesting story.”“Oh, I was just telling them about when I worked a sandbag line in my grandparents’ hometown.”“That’s very philanthropic of you,” Veronica said. Her tone was totally sincere.“How are you feeling?” Waller asked.“Pretty good,” Veronica said. “We just checked out the Wenceslas statue. When I visit a square, I always stop by its namesake.” She winked and flipped her hair.“Okay,” Waller said. “And how are you doing?”His eyes fell on me. They looked concerned, and it made me melt a little.“I’m feeling better,” I said.“Did you visit the plaque for Jan Palach?” Waller asked.“Who?” Veronica responded.“Jan Palach, the student who set himself on fire to protest the Russian occupation?”“The Russian tanks rolled into town right there,” Roger said, pointing in the direction of the statue. “That’s tragic,” Veronica said. “It really is. People tried to stop them, but really, there’s no way for a group of citizens to stop an army of advancing tanks.”“Good point,” Veronica said. “Hey, you seem like you’re headed somewhere.”The guys exchanged glances and mischievous smiles. “Not all of us,” Roger said.“Where are the rest of you headed?” Veronica asked, twirling her hair with her pointer finger.“Well, that’s privileged information,” Kite said.“Yeah,” said Frank. “We wouldn’t want anybody to tell their mom.” He glanced at Waller again.“I don’t tell my mom things,” Veronica said. “Frank is just teasing you,” Roger said. “Don’t take him seriously.”“Well, I’m being serious,” Veronica said. “You should tell me. I keep secrets like you wouldn’t believe.”“That’s not even tempting,” Kite said. “Because you come across as a gusher.”Veronica’s jaw dropped. “A gusher? I’m not a gusher. What makes you think I’m a gusher?”“It’s a hunch.” Kite wiped pizza crust crumbs off his lap. “Listen, how about we tell you later?”Veronica’s mood had shifted. She was practically scowling at the guys. “Cool,” she said. “See you later.”And she turned on her heel and walked off. She left me standing in the wake of her pissy attitude—with four college guys—feeling like a total idiot.“Her mother is having a bad-hair day,” I said. “I’ve had a few of those,” Waller said. He ran his fingers through his long hair and shook it. Watching him do this made me tingle.“What did you buy?” Roger asked, pointing to my bag.“I’m not totally sure,” I said. “What do you mean? Do you shop with your eyes closed?” he asked. I studied his face to decipher his tone. But all I saw was brown eyes and a freckled nose and neat trimmed sideburns. I couldn’t tell if he was playing with me or making fun of me.“No. I’m pretty sure they’re snack items. Everything was written in Czech.”“Dessy!” Veronica yelled. “We’re going to be late for the bones.”“Bones?” Waller asked.“The Old Jewish Cemetery,” I said.“I thought maybe you were going to Kutná Hora,” Waller said.I didn’t respond. Because I thought I heard him say the word “whore,” and why would Veronica and I be going to look at those?“Have you ever heard of Kutná Hora and the Sedlec Ossuary?” Waller asked.“Oh yeah,” I said. “Veronica and I are dying to go there.”“Dessy!” Veronica yelled.“We might drive out there later this week. You two should come,” Waller said. “It’s supposed to be unbelievable.”“Okay. Sure. I’ve got to go,” I said. “We’re going to take a tour. With a guide and stuff. It’s rude to make tour guides wait. Because it suggests that you aren’t very interested.” “Enjoy the tour. Don’t forget to close your eyes sometimes and let everything sink in,” Waller said.“I won’t,” I said. Then I waved good-bye. And ran off.I was hoping to hear Waller yell something after me, like, “See you later, Dessy!” or “I love talking to you!” or “Nice legs!” But that didn’t happen. As I hurried after Veronica I could hear the guys laughing. Not at me. I knew it was about their top secret plans. Seriously, though. What could be
that
funny?

Chapter Ten

“
J
ust go ahead and cremate me,” Veronica said. “I mean, the idea that somebody would be buried on top of me, let alone several people piled directly above a box containing my remains. The concept wounds me. I couldn’t endure it. I just couldn’t.”Veronica collapsed into the first available metro seat and stared at the floor. I sat next to her and patted her leg.To say that Veronica had not enjoyed the tour of the Old Jewish Cemetery was an understatement. She’d found it abhorrent and, therefore, unlike me, couldn’t be impressed by any of the tour facts. I mean, we had just seen the oldest Jewish cemetery in Europe. Was it spooky? Certainly. But it was also very interesting.“Don’t you think we’re sort of lucky to have seen it? Because it’s amazing that the place exists at all. Remember what the guide said about how the Nazis made it a policy to destroy Jewish cemeteries? How they even used the tombstones for target practice?”“I don’t feel lucky to have seen any of it. Seriously. When my time comes, go ahead and incinerate me and then scatter my ashes at the mall.” She reached down and squeezed my hand.“I didn’t think it was that bad,” I said. “There were parts I liked. Even loved.” Veronica made gagging noises, but I ignored her. She rested her head on my shoulder. If Veronica had been a more reasonable person I could have debated with her until she realized that our tour of the Jewish Quarter had been a meaningful experience. As it was, I was going to have to wait and talk to my mother about what I’d seen. I knew she would understand. Even though she hadn’t done much of it, she thought seeing the world was important.“Collapsing headstones aren’t tour-worthy. Castles. Cathedrals. Crown jewels on display behind bulletproof glass. Those are tourist destinations,” Veronica said. I wanted to remind Veronica that we’d seen a lot more than a few graves. Before the cemetery, our tour had started off at the synagogues. And I had done exactly what Waller had said. I’d let everything sink in. I hadn’t understood that it was possible to feel emotionally stirred by a building. But I was. I saw things at the Spanish Synagogue that were so amazing their beauty was now lodged inside of me forever. Walls outlined in gold. Pillars decorated with dizzying amounts of green, red, and black paint. And ceilings so high and ornate that for the first time in my life I was able to imagine the idea of heaven.Veronica hadn’t even wanted to go inside.“We were just in a synagogue,” she’d said to her mother.“We’re going into another one,” Mrs. Knox said.“Why?”“It’s part of the tour!” There was so much tension between the two of them that I seriously thought about stepping outside.“Life shouldn’t be
this
structured. You don’t leave any time for random fun crap to happen. All you do is plan, plan, plan,” Veronica had said. “Living life shouldn’t feel like plotting a story.”Mrs. Knox seemed to bristle at this comment. “We’ve got two more synagogues to tour, Veronica. Maybe random fun crap will occur when you take the subway home.”“I thought we were going out to dinner after this,” Veronica said.“Change of plans,” Mrs. Knox said in a brusque tone. “I want to investigate purchasing some art from a local painter I met.”Veronica shrugged as if she didn’t care. But I knew she did. She’d been looking forward to dinner out.After their fight, Veronica couldn’t appreciate anything we saw. Even when I’d told her what Waller had said about letting everything sink in. “If Waller were standing right here and he said that to me, I’d flip him the bird,” Veronica said.“I’m going to give you a little space,” I said.And I did. I’d breathed in the synagogue’s air. Every inch of it was covered in color, even the stained-glass windows. The guide said that the Spanish Synagogue got its name because it was inspired by the Alhambra, a palace in Spain that was built by the Moors. So it was like I was touring that place too. Veronica hadn’t wanted to hear anything about the Moors.“I read
Othello
,” she’d said. “When it comes to the Moors, I think I’ve got their number.”But I loved hearing about the Moors and how they were followers of Mohammed and the Koran. I didn’t know that one of the laws of the Koran forbids any human figures or animal forms in sculpture or painting. The guide explained that this is why Moorish architecture only used geometric figures in decorating the synagogue. I fell in love with the place. Its floors, and walls, and arches, and benches. If our guide hadn’t been sixty, I bet I could have fallen in love with him too. I didn’t understand everything he said, but I paid attention because my mother had studied architecture in college. Sometimes we’d drive through neighborhoods and she’d point out what was Roman versus Victorian versus Gothic. I’d listened intently to the words the guide used: “features a low stucco arabesque,” “use of stylized Islamic motifs,” “carried out on the doors and gallery balustrades.” The metro jerked to an abrupt halt, and Veronica moaned.“Are you going to throw up?” I asked.“I should have. Right there in that awful cemetery. If she makes us go to anything else like that, it’ll kill me. Seriously. I’ll have an aneurism and die.”Because Veronica was visibly green, I didn’t argue with her.Our stop was next, and thankfully the train was lightly populated. It seemed unfair for other passengers to have to endure Veronica’s complaining. “My mom is obsessed with tombstones,” Veronica said as we stumbled off the train and walked toward the escalators. “Veronica, one hundred thousand people were buried there.” “That’s just too many,” she said. She covered her ears like she was trying to block out all dissenting arguments. “There should never be one hundred thousand of anything. Let alone dead people.”Back at the dorm, Veronica swept her card over the front door and made a beeline for our room. Then she groaned. And turned back around.“I feel like I’m being assaulted with sticky notes,” she said. She pulled one from the door and slapped it to her forehead. It stayed pasted to her skin for about a second, then it fluttered to the floor. I caught the words “kitchen duties and bathroom responsibilities.”“Is that Veronica and Dessy?” a voice called from behind a closed bedroom door.“Yes,” I said.“We don’t have to answer,” Veronica whispered. “There’s still time to run.”I shook my head.Brenda and Annie Earl both emerged from their room. They looked eager to talk.“Corky is in her room too,” Brenda said. “This is perfect timing.”I looked at Corky’s door and saw smoke wafting out from beneath the doorjamb.“Is she a smoker? Should we be worried?” I asked.“Let’s knock!” Annie Earl said, barging toward Corky’s presumably locked living quarters.After three loud pounds, Corky flung open the door. She stood before us completely nude. Her body looked like a perfect pear. I tried to focus on her head.“What are you doing in there? Do you need a towel?” Brenda asked. She stared at Corky in utter disgust.“I’m being naked. And no, I don’t need a towel. I made peace with my body eons ago,” Corky said. “I don’t punish it for its imperfections. I embrace it.”“I didn’t realize you’d collected such a variety of piercings,” Annie Earl said.“Yeah, yeah. My mom has already given me those lectures,” Corky said. “Oh. I’m not lecturing you. It’s just that usually I’m able to notice a person’s nipple rings through their shirt. Yours somehow escaped me.”I aimed my gaze at the ceiling. I wasn’t used to female nudity other than my own. Even in gym class.“Um, maybe we should go over lists and duties after dinner,” Brenda said.“How about tomorrow? After workshop? I need to get to work on my story,” Corky said. “I’ve hit an impasse with a machete and a hot air balloon.” She yawned and scratched her neck.“All right,” Brenda said. “See you tomorrow.”“Cool,” Corky said. “Rock on.”I watched her turn around, revealing her bare pear ass, and return to her room.“We need to work on our stories too,” Veronica said. “I’ve reached an impasse with a big-tailed animal and a small-tailed animal.”Brenda looked defeated, but nodded.“Good luck with that,” Annie Earl said. “I think I’m going to go buy a marionette.”I followed Veronica into our room and shut the door behind me.“Corky is so awesome!” Veronica said. “I mean, there she is. Chubby. Terrible haircut. Wearing an obscene amount of eyeliner. And she’s a total nudity freak.”“How does that make her awesome?” I asked.Veronica threw her hands up. “Because she looks like a disaster and she doesn’t try to cover up this condition with nice clothes. She’s a free woman. She doesn’t plot her life. She just lives it. And that’s so rare.”“Maybe,” I said. But I wasn’t sure. Because shouldn’t life be partly planned? Isn’t that why we lived in a place called “civilization,” where we had freeways and mortgages and orthodontists? Veronica lay back on her bed and took out her notebook. “Sometimes I worry that I don’t know enough about foxes to write this story.”“Have you done any research?” I asked.“Well, I watched a fox on television once.” I rolled onto my side and looked at Veronica. “I don’t think that’s enough.”“What about you? What kind of research have you done on Ecuador?”“I haven’t done any research on Ecuador because I’m writing about Guatemala.”“Same difference,” Veronica said.I wagged my finger at her. “That’s not true. I picked Guatemala for very specific reasons.”“Please, do not start lecturing me about Guatemala.”“You think everything is a lecture,” I said.“You’re acting like you’re on your period. Let’s declare some silent time and work.”“Fine,” I said.Sometimes Veronica drove me mad. Okay, so maybe I
had
been intending to let loose some lecturelike information. But where’s the hurt in that? She definitely didn’t know enough about foxes to write her story. She could have benefitted from some additional knowledge about all sorts of countries. Central and South American ones especially. To be honest, she could have used some refresher facts about North American countries as well. Even the United States.“Don’t pout,” Veronica said.“I’m not. I’m utilizing my silent time.”Veronica got up and clicked on the oscillating fan to its lowest setting. Every four seconds the air above me stirred, and it felt like a bird was flying over me. After coming to this realization, I tried not to think about Hamilton.“Aren’t you excited about our date Sunday with Scotty Dee and Kirk?” Veronica asked. “Aren’t you impressed that I pulled that off?”I sighed. “I was at first. But to be honest, upon reflection, Scotty Dee seems old,” I said.“Get over it. He’s gorgeous,” Veronica said. “Boz will freak when he sees pictures of me with a rock star–hot Aussie.”I hated the idea of the continued torment of Boz.“Frank is cuter,” I said.“Oh my god! I think so too,” Veronica said. She hurried across the room and plopped down on my bed. This maneuver made my whole body bounce.“What happened to silent time?” I asked.“Duh. Silent time ended when we started talking about guys. Okay. On a scale of one to ten, how attracted do you think Frank is to me?”“I don’t know,” I said.“Guess.”I mulled it over. “Seven,” I said. “And a half.”Veronica’s eyes bugged out. She looked thrilled. “Oh my god. Seven and a half is high. What about Kite?”“Seven and a half.”Her grin intensified. “Roger?”“I’m not sure,” I said. “He’s reserved. Let’s just say seven.”The seven range seemed safe. It kept Veronica pleased and also put her in a place where she didn’t ask for elaboration.“What about Waller?”“What do you mean?” I asked.“On a scale of one to ten, how attracted do you think Waller is to me?”I blinked at her several times. My stomach tightened. Veronica and I had never been interested in the same guy before. What was she doing? Didn’t she have enough potential flings on her plate?“Stop making that face,” Veronica said. “I’m totally kidding. I know you like Waller. I’d never make a move on a guy you liked. Ever.”Veronica picked up my hand and kissed the back of it.“That was a terrible trick,” I said.“I know. But the important thing is that I think Waller is interested in you at least at a level eight, possibly a level nine,” Veronica said.This made all my anger flow out of me.“He’s so cute,” I said. “I can’t wait to read his story.”“Yeah. Everybody’s writing is better than I thought it would be. I mean, I didn’t like Brenda’s”—she stuck her finger down her throat—“but I liked Kite’s. And I like Frank’s and Annie Earl’s stories for tomorrow.”“He knows a lot about marine animals,” I said. “I had no idea that if you messed with a dolphin’s blowhole it had the potential to charge you and deliver a fatal head butt.”I waited for Veronica to offer some sort of sexual interpretation of Frank’s story, but she didn’t. I couldn’t come up with one either. “Do you think his story is a metaphor for something else?”Veronica sighed. “Basic postadolescent male horniness.”“Yeah,” I said.“Can you believe that Annie Earl won a pie-making contest and was given an award of five hundred thousand dollars? That’s so huge. And for a cherry pie? Can you imagine?”“That was a true story?” I asked.“Totally. I Googled it. She won five hundred thousand smackers.”“Have you Googled anyone else?” I asked. “Maybe I’ll Google Waller.”“We don’t know his real first name. He’s un-Googleable,” Veronica said. “It’s one of those sucky things you’re going to have to live with. Or we could break into his room and sneak a peek at his passport.” She was perfectly serious.“No way,” I said. “I think I’d rather let there be a little mystery involved.”“Your choice. The only guy I found on the Internet was Roger. He won some prize in Chicago for writing a poem about a trout.”“He fishes?” I asked.“No. The poem isn’t about catching the trout, it’s about eating it. I suspect he might have a sexual hang-up. But I’d need to read more poems.”I wasn’t clear how writing a poem about a trout dinner turned you into somebody with a sexual hang-up.“He seems really normal to me. Nice, actually,” I said.“Time will tell.”Veronica flipped onto her side and narrowed her eyes at me. “I know it’s probably rude to talk about this, but I think it’s time we discuss it.”“What?” I asked. I was worried she was going to bring up my BO. This city made me sweat so much I couldn’t help it.“How do you think she got burned?” Veronica asked.“Annie Earl?” I asked.“Duh,” Veronica said. “I bet it was a crazy ex-lover. I bet it was one of those, ‘If I can’t have you, no one can’ situations.” “I don’t know. She’s a cook. Maybe it was a grease fire,” I said.“I don’t think so. I think it was something dramatic. I know!” she gasped. “Maybe Ronald Reagan set her on fire!”“What?” I asked.“She said she had dinner with Ronald Reagan, and the way she said this made me think there was more to the story.”“Ronald Reagan did not set Annie Earl on fire.”“You’re probably right.”“Probably?” Veronica returned to her own bed and took out her notebook again. “Maybe you should Google some information about foxes,” I said.“Shhh. Our walls are pretty thin. I don’t want people to hear you say that.”“You don’t want people to hear me say Google?” I asked.“No, foxes,” she whispered.She’d already said the word “fox” much louder than I had, just moments ago, but I didn’t point that out.“Why?” I asked.“Because it’s a great idea and I don’t want anybody to steal it,” Veronica said.“Should we develop a code word?”“Totally. From now on call them otters,” she said.“Seriously?” I asked.“Yeah. When you have a ‘great idea’ like this”—she drew scare quotes in the air—“it’s important to prevent people from ripping it off.”There were many reasons to object to this argument. Not the least of which was that it was based on irrational paranoia.“Okay. I’ll call them otters,” I said.“This may surprise you, but my ‘otter’ story is going to turn out to be pretty great,” she said.“Why would that surprise me?” I asked.“Because I’ve made it seem like I don’t care very much about it,” she said.I lay down on my own bed and reached into my backpack for the first six pages of my Guatemala story. So far the two main characters had driven halfway through Mexico in a rental car they’d secured in Oklahoma, though they would only drive while the guy was sleeping, because he was afraid of being in a moving car. I heard Veronica’s pen scratching against her notebook.“I know you care about your story,” I said.She tossed her pillow at me, and it thwacked me in the head.“Why did you do that?” I asked.“I don’t know,” she said in a low monotone.“Why do you sound so unhappy all of a sudden?” I asked.“Writing makes me feel conflicted,” she said. “It makes feel like I’m being self-centered.”“Why would it make you feel that way?” “You’d have to live with a writer to understand.” Veronica rolled onto her stomach and commenced chewing her pen cap.“You complain a lot about your mom being selfish,” I said. “But I don’t see it that way.”“That’s because she acts differently when you’re around.”“We’ve been friends since seventh grade,” I said. “I think I would have picked up on it by now.”“It was way worse when I was younger,” Veronica said. “My mom was always typing. Or reading manuscripts for her class. Or reading other people’s books. Or traveling to read from her new collection.”“It’s her job,” I said.“I know that. But a lot of times things came down to a choice. Attend Veronica’s gymnastics meet or be a visiting writer at Breadloaf. Celebrate Veronica’s birthday with her or fly to New York to give a reading. And a lot of the time it was about her daily choices. Given the chance to spend time with her family or write, she always chose to write. Seriously. She always chose that over us. Every time.”I didn’t say anything. “If she’d been around more—I mean, really been there for us—I think things would have ended up differently. Even with my dad.”When Veronica talked about her father, I never knew what to say.“I am the only person I know whose father left his family to live in Rome for the weather,” she said.“Your statement implies that you know of other dads who left their families to live in Rome,” I said. I didn’t mean it snarky. I was merely making an observation.“This is no time to pick me apart,” Veronica said. “I’m opening up.”“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said.“Clearly, you have a better relationship with your mom than I have with mine,” she said.I didn’t argue. “But who do you think has the better relationship with their dad? Now that he’s gone, I see him two weeks out of the year. I fly to Rome and we bond like crazy. Then I leave and we talk on the phone twice a month. I know it’s nontraditional, but I still think it’s healthy. Don’t you?”Mrs. and Mr. Knox never got divorced. They lived in this sort of limbo place. It was weird to me, but I tried not to judge it.“I think your relationship with your dad is decent,” I said.“Decent! That’s a complete understatement. We’re very close,” Veronica said.“You talk twice a month,” I said.“So, you don’t ever really talk to your dad. He’s around, but you never talk to him. It’s like he’s a stranger. You have a way worse relationship with your dad than I do with mine.”“Shut up,” I said. “Don’t tell me to shut up. I’m trying to work through something here. Writing makes me feel miserable. And I think my egomaniac mother is to blame.”“Your mother isn’t an egomaniac. You can’t blame her for everything. Especially for what happened with your dad. When relationships go kaput, the blame is fifty- fifty,” I said.“You really believe that?” she asked.My mind zoomed to Hamilton. Fifty-fifty? Did I really believe that?“I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is that maybe things would have ended up happening just the way they did no matter how much your mom wrote or didn’t write. Maybe these things were supposed to happen,” I said.Veronica didn’t look at me. “She could have done more.”I wasn’t sure about this. But I was tired of fighting. Veronica was on the verge of tears. I didn’t understand why she always had to be so mad at her mother. It made sense to me that Mrs. Knox had to work. Sometimes that means making sacrifices. For everybody. Plus, when a relationship busts up I don’t think it’s fair to blame the woman for everything. I’d done all I could to captivate Hamilton. It’s not like I wanted to have flaws. “I think your relationship with your dad is pretty healthy,” I said.“Thanks,” Veronica said. “And I think your mom is trying really hard now to be the mom you want her to be.”Veronica didn’t respond for a moment.“Okay. Let’s say I give her a free pass for forcing my father to seek out Rome. So maybe she is trying harder now, but does that mean she gets an additional free pass on everything? Like all the years where she sucked at being a mother are swept under the mattress and forgotten?”“You mean rug. Swept under the rug,” I said.“That’s even worse,” Veronica said. “Because that’s where all the floor dust of the world lives. I don’t want to be swept under there.”“What are you talking about? Your mother’s screwups would be swept under there. Not you. That’s what the metaphor means,” I said. “Are you saying that’s what I should do?” she asked. “Just let her sweep all her mistakes under the rug?”“I think you should do what makes you happy,” I said. “And I don’t think that being upset and disappointed by your mom for the rest of your life is the best choice.”“I wasn’t planning on staying mad for the rest of my entire life,” Veronica said.“You talk about this a lot. I think blaming her for what happened with your dad actually gets in the way of your happiness.”“What an awful thing to say,” Veronica said.“I’m your friend.”“Then why are you saying such awful things to me?”“I’m not.”“Yes you are. First, you slam me about my relationship with my father, and then you start telling me how I’m destined to be miserable because I’m a lousy daughter.”“That’s not even close to what came out of my mouth. You’re twisting things,” I said.“You don’t get it.” “Sure I do.” “No. Your mom acts the way a mom should. She’s dedicated. Her life is defined by her mother duties. You don’t even get how lucky you are.”I thought about my mother. Home. Doing laundry. Calling her best friend, Collette, to exchange recipes. She had a simpler life. That’s true. But to hear Veronica talk about it made it seem like my mother had made a sacrifice. Like I’d made her make a sacrifice. “I’m going to go talk to Corky. She doesn’t seem like the sort of person hell-bent on wrecking my happiness.”“I’m not trying to do that,” I said.“Sure you’re not,” Veronica said.“What about our amazing ability to only fight for thirty seconds and make up?” I asked. “What about dinner?”“It’s not like we’re sharing the same lung. You do your thing. I’ll do mine.”